Lady Macbeth Short Story

The overcast skies forewarned of the storm to come. The grey clouds rumbled treason and the wild wolves howled their distress. Rough winds wreaked havoc on the brittle branches of the oak trees in Birnam Wood, but not even this could compare to the turmoil in the new queen’s mind.

In her chambers, Lady Macbeth’s frantic, bloodshot eyes darted across the shadowed room like a wild animal. Searching for the ghost that had haunted her for what seemed like an eternity. The hallucination appeared soon after the death of King Duncan. His happy and nonchalant demeanour was what had caused Lady Macbeth many sleepless nights. She would have been able to endure an angry or hateful ghost, but the honourable manner and grace in which he held himself gave her a sense of unwavering and nauseating guilt. The ghost of King Duncan now leaned

However, nothing seemed to stop the inexorable march of the men. Only when she reached the door, did Lady Macbeth become aware of the jumble of whispers in a slow chant.

“Treachery, treachery, death, death, death.”

Stricken with fear and terror, Lady Macbeth screeched at the marching men, children and women - a loud shrill that echoed throughout the castle.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” She screamed over and over again.

Her fervour of knife thrusts increased in frequency but unknowingly, Lady Macbeth had moved towards a stairwell in the castle. She took another step back but there was no floor. Knife in hand, Lady Macbeth fell. The clear image of castle bricks quickly blurred into a flowing stream of red, grey and black, struggling to keep the knife from her body, Lady Macbeth tumbled down the stairs. Until finally, she stopped with a thud at the bottom of the stairs, impaling herself with the knife. As she rolled her head around, she found herself lying down in a pool of her own